


By the Book

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everlark Fic Exchange 2019, F/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: Peeta’s an author away on a book tour, and his wife Katniss misses him. When he returns, he finds Katniss has been reading a smut book during his absence.





	By the Book

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 94: Smut. Hot, sweaty, passionate, loving, smut. Everlark has to be married and it can only be the 2 of them. No three-somes or switching partners. [submitted by anonymous]

 

“Oh my God, Peeta! Listen to this.”

 

“Kat, sweetheart, I’d rather talk to you.”

 

“Shhhh! This is fantastic. ‘Esmerelda groaned as he parted her and slid inside, splitting her in two with his girth. She didn’t want to beg, but she couldn’t help it. She needed him to quench the burning fire in her loins with his drenching juices.’ What the fuck? That’s not even worth the dollar I paid for it.”

 

Peeta chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. That’s terrible. Don’t ever let me write something that bad, and stop buying books at garage sales thinking you’re going to find decent literature.”

 

“Deal,” I agree and throw the book onto his side of the bed. I hate that it’s empty, and I cannot wait for him to get home to me. “How’s the tour going?”

 

“It’s good. Really good,” he says. “I miss you, though. Wish you could have come with me.”

 

I roll my eyes and grin when he sticks out his tongue. “You know I can’t. I have a job. We have bills. We just bought a house. It would have been irresponsible of me to chuck it all and follow my husband around the country watching him sign books.”

 

“You’re just afraid you’ll punch one of the women you’re convinced is in love with me,” he laughs. “They’re not, you know. Besides, I only have eyes for you.”

 

“They’re not,” I scoff. “Bull. Shit. Bullshit, Peeta James Mellark. You are gorgeous, you write gorgeous books, and women fawn over you wherever you go. The last thing I want to do is rile up your fanbase. We need the income from your illustrious career, and having your wife on your arm doesn’t help sell books.”

 

“No, but it’d help me not have blue balls every night,” he grumbles. I pout at the phone screen for a second, but he’s not amused.

 

“Well, in that case…”

 

After carefully propping the phone of the bureau, I cross back to our bed and turn to face him. I pull on the tie of my robe, and it falls open to reveal the lingerie I bought after he left. It’s lace, sheer, and his favorite color—a lovely muted orange that glows against my dark skin. I know I’ve made the right choice when he stills and releases an elongated moan that makes me shiver.

 

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes, and I wink at him before crawling onto the bed and getting on all fours.

 

“I know you’ll be home on Friday, but I thought maybe this might tide you over for the next three days.”

 

He just nods as I arrange myself and pose for him. By the time we hang up for the night, I’m positive he doesn’t have blue balls, and I stay up half the night reading Esmerelda’s story and envying her for being in the same space as her lover.

 

****

 

“Yes, Prim, he’ll be home in a couple of hours,” I repeat into the phone for what seems like the fifteenth time. “We have dinner plans with his family, so I don’t have time to see a movie tonight.”

 

My younger sister chatters into the phone, but I’m not really listening to her anymore. I’m too busy imagining what’ll happen when dinner with the in-laws is finished, and I have my husband to myself back at our place. Despite mocking the smut book on the phone with Peeta, there were a few things near the end of the work that have inspired interest in learning some new techniques. I mean, really, I’m helping my husband with his craft. It’s a service to the world of literature what I’m planning to do to him.

 

I’m leafing through the final pages of Esmerelda’s sexual awakening when I hear what sounds like a key jiggling in the front door and immediately cut off Prim. “I’ve got to go. Someone’s here!”

 

With Esmerelda and well-endowed partner raised in my right hand as a weapon, I sneak toward the entry and screech when Peeta jumps around the corner and yells, “Surprise!” Startled, I throw the book at him, and he yowls when it hits him on his neck.

 

“What the hell, Katniss?!”

 

“I’m so sorry!”

 

He bends down and picks up the book. His brow furrows when he sees the cover. Raising it up so I can see, he’s incredulous when he asks, “You threw smut at me?”

 

We stand staring at each other for several seconds, and I have no idea how to recover from the surreal nature of his return. There’s clearly no other way to handle this, so I throw myself at him as well and kiss the red welt that’s sprung up on his neck. Dragging him to the living room, I disentangle myself long enough to lay down on the couch and bite down on my index finger.

 

“No, I threw the book at you. You should be punished,” I tease, and he suppresses his laugh. Before he left town, we did a little role playing with me as a policewoman handcuffing him for lewd talk and attempting to bribe an officer of the law.

 

“What are you waiting for?” I demand and pull down the collar of my t-shirt to expose the tiny amount of cleavage I have. “Get inside me. We’ve got limited time, and I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

 

He leans down and bites my earlobe causing a groan to fall from my half-open mouth. He shivers when my breath caresses his cheek, and I tug him toward me, anxious to feel his hardened length.

 

His stamina just pisses me off sometimes, and today is one of those days. He doesn’t give in to my rush. Not even close. Instead, he pulls me to my feet and backs me against the wall where he cages me in his arms. When I’m steady, he flips the button of my jeans open and slowly works his hand against my belly and under the fabric that separates me from him.

 

My knees weaken as the tip of his middle finger grazes my swollen lips. I choke on his name when he parts me to slide into the wetness there. He dips and strokes, incessantly, sweetly, softly, until I want to scream. When I finally do, he finds my clit and rubs it—feverishly slowly—until I’m trembling against him and promising him so many dirty things, I’ll be stained for life.

 

I’m dizzy with need and desperate for the feel of him inside me when he drops to his knees and presses his lips to the skin just above my panties. He breathes on me, searing my skin, and tugs the fabric past my hips and down to my knees. I pull my right leg free, and he palms my calf and pulls my foot to his shoulder. When I’m balanced, he pushes my knee against the wall and dips his head between my legs.

 

“Oh, hell,” I moan and close my eyes.

 

Peeta’s mouth moves against me, tasting and sucking, licking and nipping, burrowing deeper and deeper until his tongue’s inside me, touching my core. He growls the way an animal does when it eats something that sates its hunger, but mine only grows.

 

In and out. Mind-numbingly amazing. And then he mimics what he’s doing with his hands. His lips close over my clit, and heat scorches my insides. My hands tear at his hair, grasping his curls, frantic and greedy for all of him.

 

I’m incoherent when I climax, swearing and begging simultaneously. I can’t tell what’s from me and what’s his own saliva when he pulls away and looks at me. His mouth is slathered with moisture and his eyes hooded with lust. I’m so turned on, I can’t stay upright, so I slide down until I hit the floor.

 

“I want to fuck you so hard,” he murmurs, and my eyes flutter shut at the thought of it. I hear rustling, and I force them back open to see him naked and sprawled on the floor. His cock is rigid and weeping, thrusting upward from a thatch of dark blonde hair he grooms just the way I like it.

 

I know what he wants, and I can’t wait to give it to him. In seconds, I scramble over him and hover a few inches above his chest. Lowering my head, I trace his mouth with my tongue and grin at his choked response. I clean his face and savor the taste. He coaxed that from me, and I want to enjoy it again. His hands grip my hips, and I shift until I find his cock. I reach between us and rub his tip through my slit, covering him until he’s lubed enough to slide right in. I want to go slow, but a little voice gnaws at the back of my mind. We don’t have the luxury of time today.

 

“We have to meet your parents in thirty minutes,” I remind him right before we join. He groans, and I laugh at the way pain mixes with pleasure—sexual gratification combined with the reminder of familial obligations.

 

“Dirty move,” he grunts, and I agree. “Dirty…”

 

“You like it when I’m dirty.”

 

I rear back and ride him, and he can’t talk anymore. I know what he likes, and that’s what I give him. It’s hard, bruising, and definitely not something we can discuss at dinner later. When he’s almost there, I scramble off him and grab his balls. His cock twitches, throbbing and angry at the sudden exposure. Contorting myself, I lower my head to take him in my mouth while fingering him with my free hand.

 

He yelps and thrashes, but he loosens just enough for me to penetrate him before his hips jerk violently and he blows. I gag and choke as the mixture of his cum and my saliva slithers in rivulets to puddle against his pelvis. When I pull back, he strokes himself, fluid squeezing between his fingers and over his hand.

 

“If you’re done, you better get in the shower.” I don’t want him to stop. There’s something soothing about watching him rub his dick, but we need to get ready if we’re going to make our reservations on time.

 

“I’m canceling,” he insists and fumbles for his pants. He pulls his phone free and unlocks the screen. He dials his dad and mouths to me, “Take off your shirt,” as the phone rings.

 

“We can’t cancel,” I hiss, but he ignores me.

 

“Hey, Dad. I’m sorry for the late notice, but Katniss caught a bug today at work. She’s not feeling great. Can we raincheck?” A grin slices across his face, and he wipes his soiled hand across his chest. The smear of his ejaculate on his pecs is too much for me.

 

Peeta ends the phone call before I have my shirt off, and he whistles as I slowly bare my chest. I didn’t bother to put a bra back on after I changed out of my work clothes, and my nipples harden under his gaze. Suddenly, I’m disgustingly glad my husband’s sex drive is so healthy.

 

“Table?” he suggests, and I nod. He helps me up and kisses my neck as he backs me toward the oak slab that graces our dining nook. He helps me perch on the edge of the wood and moves between my legs. He’s limp now, but I know it won’t take long for him to recover. Until then, he has plans, and I’m happy to let him fulfill them. I bend my knees and lock them over his hips. I can feel his heat against my pussy when I wrap my arms around his neck.

 

“I think I can get three inside you tonight.” His voice is husky, and it does things to me.

 

“I don’t think you can,” I challenge.

 

There’s just enough space between our bodies for his hand. Long, tapered fingers stroke me, and I catch my breath when one slides inside. His hips pulse along, mimicking what he’ll do when he recovers.

 

It doesn’t take long before I beg him to fill me tighter. He adds another finger and then a third. I want him deeper, but he curves inside me until I squeal. Sucking sounds mingle with panting, and I relinquish control and let him drive me past the brink as many times as he can. My eyes roll back in my head, and I slump backward onto the table. I can’t tell when he replaces his hand with his cock, but he must at some point.

 

I’m beyond reason when his pace quickens. He leans over me and drives upward, lifting me off the table with his thrusts. I know we’re loud, but I don’t care. We answer each other; our conversation in a language we only speak together.

 

I’m filthy when we finally finish. He pulled out and spilled on my stomach just for variety, and the sticky substance pools in warm puddles in several places on my body. He grins and traces patterns on my ribcage until it dries, crusting against my warm skin as a mark of his hold on me.

 

“And Finnick said we’d never have sex again once we got married,” he scoffs. He shakes his head and kisses both my nipples before finding my mouth and slipping his tongue inside to meet mine.

 

“If you tell Finnick you painted me with your cum, I’ll divorce you,” I tease and bite his lower lip. “I know he’s your best friend, but that information is off limits. He’ll never let that one go.”

 

Peeta heaves a gargantuan sigh. Huffing with faux frustration, he agrees to my condition. “Contrary to what you and your lady friends think, men don’t kiss and tell nearly as much as you think we do. I’m positive you’ve shared more with your BFFs than I ever have with Finnick.”

 

I snort in disbelief. My husband knows I hardly share anything with anyone but him. He’s posturing, and it’s highly amusing.

 

“You know what I want to share right now?”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“A shower. I am disgusting.”

 

“Disgusting? Covered in my cum? I am offended.” Peeta’s mock outrage makes me laugh, and I drag myself off the table.

 

“Get your ass in the bathroom, sir. I can’t take this anymore.”

 

I’m already under the spray when he joins me, and I laugh when he tickles my sides and kisses me on the neck. I love being married to him, and I really love the feel of his artistic hands washing me clean.

 

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips, and I repeat his words.

 

I’m sated and limp when turns off the water, picks me up, and cradles me against his chest. He kisses my temple and carries me to our bedroom where he places me on the bed. He turns off the lights and lights the candles I keep on our bureau before slipping under the sheets and cuddling me to him. His legs intertwine with mine, and his palm grazes back and forth over my breasts.

 

“I can’t believe you canceled on your parents,” I yawn and close my eyes. I’m worn out, but I know he has more planned for us. I have more planned for him, too, but it seems he’s on a roll. My ideas might have to wait. Esmerelda will understand.

 

“We’re newlyweds.”

 

“Still…”

 

His hand moves from my chest to my stomach, and he trails kisses along my neck and shoulder. I’m soppy and tingling when he finds my slit again. He doesn’t push or rush, but he’s persistent. There’s just enough contact that I can’t quite forget I’m naked with my husband who can’t get enough of my body.

 

“They want grandkids, eventually. I bet they’ll forgive us,” he jokes, and I hiss as his thigh rubs against my crack. He’s teased me from behind before, but I rear against him. For some reason, the thought of him working me open makes me hotter.

 

“What I’m thinking about won’t result in kids.” My voice is deep and throaty, and he groans his approval.

 

Our mouths fuse together for several minutes. We’re skin against skin; connected only as we can be. When he pushes, I pull. When he asks, I open. When he thrusts, I take. When he backs away, I bring him closer. Sweat covers us. My back slides and sticks against his chest. His pelvis smacks my ass repeatedly. His fingers stroke in time in time with his cock, and I can feel him swell inside me.

 

“Oh my fu—” he groans, and I hold him as tightly as I can. He used to beg me to help him stay together, and he needs me right now. He clenches around me, and I won’t let him go. I fight my climax, but I’m too close. I warn him, but it rips through me and splinters into a million pieces.

 

It’s several minutes before I’m cognizant again, and the weight of my husband’s body feels delicious. He shifts and pulls free, and I bite my lip as another groan rips from my throat. Every nerve ending screams in the aftermath of our coupling.

 

“I’m never leaving you again,” Peeta grumbles and drops a sloppy kiss on my chest.

 

“Ooooooooor, you could go away all the time and come back to this.”

 

When he chuckles, it rumbles through my torso. He nuzzles under my chin and holds me as his breathing returns to normal. My eyelids droop, and his fingers glance over my rib cage and raise goosebumps on my skin. I love him more than I know how to say, so I don’t. Instead, I curl into him and fall asleep in his arms. I have only good dreams.


End file.
